


Following the Wind

by unjaundiced



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Coming of Age, Gen, Genin Iruka, Kid Fic, Kid Umino Iruka, Memorial Day, Memorials, Metaphors, Slice of Life, Swearing, Teen Hatake Kakashi, The Will of Fire, coming to terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unjaundiced/pseuds/unjaundiced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ANBU comes across something interesting one night in Konoha. Unintentionally, he ends up following the trouble to its unlikely, very likely, source: a troublesome orphan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Following the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> This is set the year after the Kyuubi as a memorial and was originally written for 11 March 2012 to commemorate the Tohoku Tsunami of 2011. Happy Memorial Day, all. Enjoy all the metaphors.

An odd scuttling sound chattered its way across the Konoha Academy schoolyard, followed by a soft thump and hastily muffled curse. The skin-crawling rasp of paper catching on a rough edge hissed sharply before being silenced. There was a breath of stillness before a soft gasp of wind hurried across the carpet of grass, a shadow darting after it; dancing between the moving blades like a flickering afterthought and vanishing over the wooden fence as the wind gusted skyward and shook the trees in one hardy blow.

A pale porcelain mask gleamed an icy blue under the gaze of a cold autumn moon as the white-armored body of a lanky ANBU shifted in the shadows beneath the trees, masked face tilting almost curiously as it marked the path of the wind. The mask was a ubiquitous sight these days; all white and black and bloody red markings that turned a flat gray in the gloom. Its eye holes slanted laughingly over a kittenish painted smirk, completely at odds with the dull black glint of the armored glove tipped with blades curved into claws curling ponderously across the chin of the mask, its mate busy drumming itself in the air above a tree trunk. A soft tap was heard as a claw on the glove touched the tree and the ANBU froze, carefully retracting its hand and slipping back into the darkness, mystery disregarded as the cheerful glow of an approaching lamp heralded the ward watch.

☆

Morning dawned with an obnoxious noisiness that belied the wartime situation. It started with the shrill voices of small children who would not be silenced and chatty women who seemed to know everything about nothing. By sunup, grave-shift ninja were slipping from the woodwork and passing their day-shift counterparts coded messages as they headed home. The streets were agog with oddly placed items: jars shifted a half degree to the right and turned a quarter east, a single pair of chopsticks upside down in a pot full of ones right side up, a broom tilted almost to falling and leaning between the crook of a wire running up a pole, its dustpan across the street and several houses away. The morning ninja shook their heads ruefully at the civilians and shrugged, carefully straightening things with casual commentary that the graveyard shift must be fatigued.

Crouched in the shadowy eave of a roof overhang near some laundry, the ANBU from the previous night made a mental checklist of all the happenings and recorded the most critical updates on a scroll before sealing it. The moment his own personal chakra seal settled across the open edge and locked it shut, the scroll disappeared with a soft breath of displaced air. It was in the Hokage's hands now.

That done, the ANBU seemed to sag into utter laziness, inherent tension seeping away in an instant as he stretched broadly in complete disregard of his surroundings. His clawed fist waved gently in front of his mask's smirking mouth as he stretched towards the sky as if he was yawning with his whole self. He casually shook himself loose and back-flipped off the roof, bright orange book out before his feet hit the dirt. He seemed to hum as he slouched along, shuffling alongside a throng of early morning shoppers and elderly folk escorting small children to school. Nobody seemed to so much as blink at the odd sight. This particular ANBU was somewhat famous for his nonchalance by now.

Caught up in his book, the ANBU didn't really pay attention to where he was going and wandered along with a crowd of school children, mindful only of the fact that there were non-threatening bodies bustling around him. Then suddenly there were none.

“Hm?”

The ANBU looked up curiously and found himself staring at a big cheery sign with an overly happy bear on it welcoming him to the Konoha Academy Preschool and Daycare. He looked back down at his book, casually made a ninety degree turn to the left and walked away.

“Mah, can't believe that happened again,” he mumbled to himself, turning a page. “I have to start paying more attention to things.”

“Damn that brat! He did it again!” a shrill voice shouted, making the ANBU pause.

“Come now, you can't be sure it's him,” another voice soothed.

“Who else would it be!” the first voice demanded, trees almost shaking from the force of the bellow.

The ANBU peered over the fence into the Konoha Academy schoolyard, curiously watching a red-faced woman furiously pointing at something in a classroom. He tucked his book away and hopped over the barrier, carefully making his way across the clearing. The two teachers turned and he paused mid-stride, casually settling into semi-formal stance as he raised his chin slightly. The two chuunin nodded in deference.

“ANBU-sama, please disregard our commotion,” the male teacher said, bowing low, forehead almost touching the windowsill. “We have minor troubles with some students––”

“With _one_ student,” the woman grumbled bitterly, sighing heavily as her co-worker shot her a warning look.

“––but you should not trouble yourself with our problems,” he continued.

The ANBU nodded. Troublesome orphans were something of a common problem these days, one of them being a very famous Academy prankster. He was just curious what kind of trouble the kid had caused to have his teacher shouting so early in the morning. The woman looked like she was on her way to having a hernia.

“Well then, we will leave first,” the man continued. “Apologies for having diverted you from your duties.” He took his companion none-too-gently by the elbow and pulled her away with a grunted “come on.”

“But all my classroom supplies,” she whined, grudgingly stumbling after him.

The ANBU was left standing alone in the yard in a sort of disparate moue. A playful breeze danced around him and tossed his black cloak around as he stared at the classroom window. He seemed to shrug and looked down as he shifted his toe. The rounded head of a copper pin jutted from the grass.

He crouched down to pluck it and inspected it for a brief moment, pocketing it before strolling to the fence, following the path of the wind from the night before and hopping over it. He seemed unaware of the eyes following him from the classroom.

“What a fricken weirdo,” the female chuunin commented. She turned to inspect her ransacked supplies closet and sighed. “But then again, so is that kid.”

☆

The ANBU followed the path of the wind through winding side streets, amusing himself by twisting around it as it pushed him through narrow alleyways and over random obstacles. He hopped the fence at the hospital's medicinal herb garden, meandered across the scattered stepping stones in the pond, pausing only to retrieve a piece of paper floating on the surface like a bleached-out lily pad––to the immense displeasure of the fingerling koi seeking refuge beneath it––before he accidentally stepped on the slimy toe of a rather bright purple-and-gold toad clad in a gaudy orange happi coat. The annoying thing started shouting obscenities at him as he kicked at it half-heartedly before disappearing as a grouchy Jiraiya stumbled blearily into the garden pursued by an irate Tsunade.

“Get away from me, woman!” the beleaguered jounin whined, limping at an astounding rate considering the size of the wrappings on his leg. Tsunade bore down with a hellish light in her eyes.

“I'm telling you, that brat Kakashi tried to squish me!” the toad shouted, hopping up and down and pointing in the general direction the ANBU had fled.

“I'm sure he didn't,” Jiraiya groaned, trying to shake off his former teammate. “Kakashi-kun hates getting his feet dirty.”

“I'm not dirty!” the toad whined, disappearing with a disgruntled poof.

“All right, Hangover-sama. Back to bed with you and no hitting on the nurses,” Tsunade grumbled, forcefully twisting Jiraiya's arm behind his back before dragging him towards the hospital.

“Ow! So mean! What's with this bedside manner! You'll never win a man with that attitude,” the jounin complained, digging in his heels. “I told you, I'm not hungover! I was poisoned! That Madam was a spy!”

“I'm sure you say that about all the women who call you a lecher,” the medic commented unsympathetically as the doors closed behind them.

The ANBU peeked back over and seemed to shrug, shaking the damp paper he held pinched between to fingers and taking a delicate sniff of the fishy thing. He frowned and grudgingly folded the paper into a more manageable size before stuffing it into a plastic bag normally reserved for waterproofing explosive powders. He wasn't risking putting anything wet or fishy near his precious book.

He headed towards latest village project: a cenotaph being built in the ward dedicated as a living shrine to peace. Heroes from the last wave of war were slowly being added to the monstrous thing; heroes of course, being an honorable name for those who didn't survive. He would call them weak, but then Minato-sensei would... But then Minato-sensei was dead. And that man had never been weak.

He hated conundrums.

“Ooooi! Kakashi! Kakashi-kun! Ooooi!” Speaking of conundrums.

The ANBU turned onto a side road and neatly avoided colliding into the green whirlwind spinning down the street. A moment later and teeth were flashing in his face and an arm was making to sling itself across his shoulders. He ducked away from the arm and shielded himself against the blinding grin with his trusty orange book. He could almost feel Gai slumping with defeat.

“Kakashi-kun,” Gai sighed heavily before perking up––he always perked up. Kakashi hated it. “You are so vigorous to be about so early in the morning after such a long shift. Are you not fatigued and weary? Should you not go home and rest? Kakashi-kun?”

Gai stopped and blinked at the copper pin in front of his face, delicately pinched between the razor-sharp blades of Kakashi's clawed fingertips. He frowned. He took up a thinking posture, tapping a toe in the dirt as he stroked his chin thoughtfully, hmming every so often as Kakashi ignored him for his book.

“It looks like a pin,” the young jounin commented. The orange book dipped every so slightly as Kakashi's blankly staring mask looked at him with its eerie smirk.

“Congratulations, Gai-kun. You are a genius. Let me get you a prize,” Kakashi intoned, bringing the book back up.

“––from an office of some sort,” the greener of the two teenagers continued, not at all phased. “It's the kind of pin that's used to hold hole-punched papers together. You know, they're not all that common around here. Why do you have that? My dear rival, are you planning to take up collating? Development of organisational skills is a highly worthy endeavour. I commend you on your diligence towards bettering yourself. You are truly an inspiration for young men like myself!”

Kakashi sighed, dropping his book-wielding arm with exasperation. “Gai-kun, need I remind you that you are older than me? Why are you calling yourself a young man in deference towards myself?”

“Kakashi-kun,” Gai beamed, boldly wrapping his hands around Kakashi's pin-grasping fist, eyes practically shining with proud tears. “Do you..."

Kakashi had a very bad feeling about this.

"Do you want to call me senpai?”

Kakashi vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Bashful young man! Such an honorable virtue!” Gai loudly proclaimed to no one, throwing back his shoulders as he continued on his early morning sprint across the village. His village was filled with wonderful role models that inspired him to better himself every day and Kakashi had yet again inspired him with his intrepid spirit. Such a worthy role model!

Across the village and near a burnt-out section of forest, an ANBU leaned against a tree, clearly shaken. He stared in horror at his hand, focusing on the pin it held as the world bled away around him. The book in his hand slid from bloodless fingers and dropped to his foot.

_SENPAI?! He wants me to call him SENPAI?! I'd rather die!_

He heard a rustling sound and looked down at the book resting on his toes. That wasn't it. He carefully––with no sudden movements––crouched down to pick it up, freezing as the rustling started again. He slowly pinched the book between two claws and slid up against the tree, deftly pocketing the book with practiced ease, unholstering a fresh kunai in the same movement. He breathed out slowly, stretching his senses as far as they could go; feeling his surroundings as he carefully sniffed the air and formed a mental map using all his senses. He raised the kunai and tilted it at an angle, using its polished surface as a mottled mirror to fill in his missing sense of sight. A flash of paleness crossed the center line of the blade and he froze, carefully shifting it back, sagging and sighing when he realized what it was. The kunai went away.

☆

Iruka was sitting in the middle of a field of stubby grass, legs splayed and acting as paper weights as he carefully traced triangles onto sheets of paper. He squinted against the brightness of the sun and rubbed his eyes. It was taking a lot longer than he thought it would and––He froze, eyes flickering towards the trees.

He could have sworn he'd seen something move. This far from the village wasn't the safest of places to be and this area in particular was not one animals would willingly venture to. Most humans wouldn't either. The weight of rage still burned the air and scorched the ground. There were few patches of earth where one could stand and be able to breathe and he was in one of them.

He took a stuttered breath, fingers twitching and shaking as he slowly groped for something––anything for a weapon. Something dark flashed and he choked on his own gasp as his hand closed over something and he lurched upwards into an almost clumsy guard position, wooden dowel at the ready.

_Wooden dowel?_

Iruka gaped at the flimsy piece of wood, then at the leering ANBU mask in front of it. The mask seemed to smirk even harder as the ANBU raised a clawed finger, hooking the pointed tip over the little stick and pushing it down with inexorable force. The ANBU's other hand came up and Iruka braced himself against the ensuing cut that was sure to slice his neck with open as punishment for trespassing on forbidden grounds. He stared down the ANBU, determined not to show fear.

The hand reached for his face and he flinched, instinctively closing his eyes for a brief moment.

Something flicked his forehead. _Hard._ He reeled back, clutching his face and shouting furiously. “What the hell was that, you bastard!”

“Only a dead ninja flinches,” the ANBU commented smugly, casually flipping the stolen dowel over his fingers like a coin. “I tagged you, be dead.”

“You're an ass,” Iruka snapped, sticking out his tongue and making a rude gesture. “Like hell I'd die for you. And I thought ANBU couldn't talk.”

“I'm off duty,” the ANBU shrugged, tossing the dowel back at the younger boy.

“Then why the hell are you still wearing that outfit,” Iruka grumbled, still wary.

“I'm shy.”

“Fucking liar.” Iruka eyed the ANBU slouching confidently and standing on his papers. His eyes widened.

“Oi! Bastard! Get off that!” he shouted, rushing forward and heedlessly shoving the ANBU away from his things, not thinking twice as the man gracefully gave way. He was on his knees frantically dusting off the papers, abstractly noting that there weren't actual footprints on them. Damn sneaky ANBU and their elite skills. It really pissed him off.

“What are you doing all the way out here in the No Man's Land, little Academy prankster,” the ANBU purred, poking at the papers with a claw. With his black hood hanging low over his mask, he seemed a dark and maniacal specter. Crouched the way he was over the stolen office supplies, he looked downright mad.

“I'm not a pre-genin anymore,” Iruka grumbled. “I graduated yesterday. So stop patronising me.”

“No hitai-ate? Your jounin instructor rejected you that fast? Did you pants him?” the ANBU teased, motioning at the red mark in the middle of the boy's unprotected forehead. The genin flushed.

“No. And my jounin instructor is a woman, thank you very much,” he snapped. “I've got it in my bag over there.” He pointed at a raggedly looking rucksack with more dowels and rolls of string spilling out. “I don't want it to get dirty.”

The ANBU seemed to frown and fished it out. It was still folded in its original shape, glimmering brightly in the sun. He held it out, the loose ends unfurling in bright contrast to his inky black glove. “Put it on.”

“How _dare_ you,” Iruka hissed, snatching at the thing and folding it back up.

“Put it on.” the ANBU commanded, mask seeming to glower.

“Don't order me around,” the irate genin spat, lips curling in a snarl.

“You are now a ninja of the lowest rank. I am your superior. Show some respect. Put. It. _On._ ” The ANBU drew himself up stiffly and simply menaced with his aura. Iruka grit his teeth, grinding them as he jerkily jammed the metal band to his forehead and fumbled with the knot. It slipped down over his eyebrows, then his ears, then tangled in his ponytail and frustratingly––embarrassingly––he felt helpless tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he continued to shame himself.

“Stop.”

Iruka froze, fingers tangled in the fabric as he fought the urge to scream. The ANBU settled his hands on the boy's shoulders and as he seemed to peer into Ituka's soul before sighing. Those dangerously clawed hands ghosted past Iruka's ears and carefully freed his fingers, drawing his tense arms down to his side, heedless of the hitai-ate that slipped askew across the boy's nose.

“You like to make things difficult, don't you,” the ANBU hummed as he carefully––so gently that Iruka wanted to cry for an entirely different reason––tied the hitai-ate properly; settling it just so across his brow. The man leaned back to inspect his handiwork and seemed to smile in satisfaction, patting Iruka's shoulders cheerfully.

“Now you can greet your parents proudly as a true ninja,” the ANBU chirped, plopping himself down. Iruka gaped as the ANBU patted the ground next to him. “Now tell me what you were doing.”

Iruka stared.

“That's an order,” the ANBU added more seriously. Iruka sat.

“Good boy.” Iruka glared as the ANBU beamed.

“What's your name, ANBU,” the genin grunted, frowning at the curiously cocked mask.

“Ansatsu senjutsu tokushu butai,” the ANBU replied blandly, seeming to laugh at him.

“Ass! I mean, what to call you! I know what ANBU is!” Iruka snapped, forgetting his former reticence.

“Mah, is this the new generation of Konoha? What's with this language of yours?” the ANBU asked the sky, shrugging in despair.

“Stop changing the subject, you jerk!” Iruka glared at him.

“You changed it first,” the ANBU reminded him, nodding towards the illicit paper products spread around them. “Also, it is forbidden to reveal an ANBU's identity upon threat of death. If you wish to die...”

“I don't want to die and didn't I say you couldn't kill me?” Iruka snorted. “It can be anything, even Turtle.” The ANBU stared at him implacably but he had the sense that the man was frowning. “Or Rock. Whatever. I can't just call you ANBU all the time.”

“No, you can't. ANBU-sama would be just fine,” the ANBU preened. "I'd like to see you choke as you try to say it."

“Turtle it is,” Iruka agreed, turning to his papers.

“Hound,” the ANBU interjected. Iruka looked up in surprise. “I suppose if you want to call me anything... You can call me Hound.” The boy nodded. “But never Turtle. For that, I _will_ kill you.”

“Fine then, Hound...san. I'm making pinwheels. Happy?” Iruka traced a fourth triangle to his pattern to form a shape similar to an oddly-shaped shuriken.

“Pinwheels? In this place?” Hound looked around at the barren earth and visibly frowned. “There is no wind here. This place is essentially dead.”

“Dead. Full of the dead. It's all the same,” the genin grumbled to himself, fingers tensing around his pencil.

“Alive.” Hound contradicted, head tilting as he inspected his companion. Iruka slid an annoyed look towards him.

“Are you still trying to piss me off?” the boy growled, fingers twitching. Hound seemed to smile.

“There are many types of alive: Alive with memories. Alive spirits. Alive with the dead. Alive with hope. This place is dead, but it will always have a sort of 'alive',” Hound continued, looking towards the burning orange sky. “The Kyuubi's rage is still alive and will be for a long time.” He glanced at Iruka. “Not all alive things are good things, you know,” he added grimly. Iruka had no response.

Iruka stared at the clouds that burned black in the ever-present orange miasma until his eyes ached. He blinked them tiredly and looked around in disorientation. Next to him lay a neat pile of pinwheel blanks ready for assembly. He blinked again. How long had he been staring at the sky?

“Welcome back,” Hound commented, giving a little wave. “I hope you had a nice trip.”

“What? I... Hound-san, I...” Iruka fumbled in confusion, glancing at the sky and wondering where the time had gone.

“This place is caught in its own plane of existence now,” Hound explained gravely. “Time doesn't move properly here and things are not always as they seem. If you look at the sky for a second, you may sit as years pass by around you. The Kyuubi's chakra eats holes in the fabric of time itself. From the outside and from far away, things look okay, but from the inside... It's hard to say what reality is. That's one reason no one is allowed here, Genin-kun. A person who wanders here may be lost forever.”

“It wasn't always like this,” Iruka mumbled, still struggling to understand.

“It has always been like this,” Hound said, carefully folding the edges of a pinwheel blank together over a dowel and setting a pin. “Why do you think there was so much struggle and confusion on the night of the Kyuubi? Shinobi were getting lost in time just standing still. They never had a chance.”

He folding Iruka's fingers over the pinwheel's handle and held it up between them. “Why do you think the wind doesn't blow here? Blow.”

Iruka blew and nothing happened. A moment later and a gentle breeze came from a side angle and danced across the pinwheel from the wrong side and spun it backwards.

“It's getting lost on the way,” Hound said, nodding at the backwards-turning wheel.

“It doesn't matter,” Iruka mumbled faintly. Hound seemed to be waiting for something more. “It doesn't matter,” he continued. “Because I can make the wind. If it's getting lost, I'll just tell it where to go and until it comes, I'll do its job.”

“The heat of a blaze creates a wind that rises and pushes away stale air to make way for the new,” Hound murmured quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing. It's just science.” Hound seemed to come back to himself. “But you should make the rest of your pinwheels anyhow. Since you went through all the trouble of stealing all this stuff.”

“Borrowing,” Iruka insisted, folding another pinwheel. “Without intent to return.”

“So stealing then,” Hound commented, producing pinwheels in a blinding flurry of movement that left his companion agog.

“ _Borrowing,_ ” Iruka insisted more firmly. “Like a ninja.”

“So...” Hound's pile towered over Iruka's puny few. “Stealing.”

“Whatever,” Iruka grumbled, glaring at the ANBU's pile. “Cheater.”

“Ah, yet another tangent.” Hound sighed happily. “I've never had such a long conversation before.”

“Ass.” Iruka poked the teetering tower of pinwheels and watched them fall with an unholy expression of triumph.

“Ah-ah. It's Hound, remember? H-ound. Not Ass.” Hound tsked shaking his head.

“Turtle.”

☆

“Thank you,” Iruka mumbled, bending to place another pinwheel in the parched earth. The soil crumbled beneath the wood of the dowel, blackened and powdery from the poisonous air. The dowel--a chakra-infused piece of work from the armoury--glowed a soft pulsing green as it fought off the treacherous earth.

Hound tilted his head as he placed a few pinwheels in neat rows. In his mind he was winning an undeclared pinwheel-planting battle. He was way ahead of the bratty genin--not that he'd mention it or anything.

“For not hauling me away to the prison,” Iruka continued, touching a pinwheel dowel to a rock and watching it disintegrate before his eyes. “At least, not immediately.”

“Mah, you're not going to jail,” Hound commented, stretching as he planted his last pinwheel. “The Academy loves any excuse to ask for a raise in the budget anyhow. And the armoury needs new arrow shafts. And pins are so outdated. People should use paperclips.”

Iruka snorted, stretching as well. “You're a terrible liar,” he muttered. “Your excuses are crappy as hell.”

“And your mouth is filthy,” Hound added. “If anything, the Academy should have budgeted for more soap.”

The only response he got was a rude gesture.

The two stood at the end of the field and surveyed their efforts. The burnt-out, badly scarred field was dusted with white, orange-tinged from the unnatural air. From a distance the pinwheels looked like a swarm of butterflies or a flock of birds frozen on shards of glass. At the base of each, a soft pulse of greenish blue fought the blackened earth and the orange haze that danced around everything.

“Not bad,” Hound commented, folding his arms across his chest. “Too bad there isn't any wind though.”

Iruka grinned broadly and took up a stance, forming a circle with his fingers and pursing his lips to blow. Hound felt the swirling pulse of rising chakra and raised a brow. _Or is there?_

It started with a quaver; a breath so small a bug wouldn't have felt it. Then there came a steady pulse that pushed against strangely split planes that segregated the space and distorted time itself. Weak percussive blasts of wind hammered the thick soup of chakra that was sinking down into its nighttime bed, building up into a pounding barrage until one by one, the pinwheels started to turn. From across time and space, wind began to blow from the cracks in the shattered reality of the ruined place until all the pinwheels were practically dancing; singing and chattering in high-pitched voices.

Iruka dropped his hands and staggered, shivering a little; light-headed and sheened in a cold sweat, but proud. It might not last, but at least for a moment, the pinwheels were alive and his mother's secret salve to protect against chakra burns was standing up to the corrosion of the Kyuubi's chakra. For now. When the full weight of the chakra nested in the valley in a few hours for its nightly slumber, it might just eat everything.

That feeling of futility humbled him and the cresting wave of despair reared in front of him. His grin faltered and he stumbled a bit; more tired than he thought he'd be. His knees gave out and his eyes widened in surprise as he felt himself fall. Wiry arms caught him and clawed hands hauled him back to his feet, shaking him slightly.

“Okay, kid. Time to go,” Hound chirped, turned and crouched in front of him. Iruka stared. Hound looked at him impatiently. “Well? Hurry up. Night's coming and there's no place that'll be safe from that chakra if we stay here.”

“You're barely older than me,” Iruka mumbled numbly. “Your arms are so skinny.”

“Mah, I'm just anorexic. Now let's go,” Hound grumbled, tugging on his arm.

“No way! What do I look like? A girl? I can't just climb on your back,” Iruka protested. “And we're like the same age! I mean, almost. You're older, but still. And you're a boy! I can't–”

“Time's up.” Hound interrupted, swinging the weakly protesting genin onto his back and scooping up Iruka's rucksack at the same time. “Hold on tight,” he added, taking off running without much warning. Iruka yelped and instinctively clung to Hound with all his limbs.

“Ass! You, turtle ass!” he shouted above the wind, heart racing with exhilaration. Just above the whistling in his ears, he could have sworn he heard someone laughing.

As they flickered away through the forest back towards the safety of the village, the heavy orange chakra crashed to the forest floor in a roiling mass of rage, churning around the spinning blades planted in the ground. From a distance, the souls of the lost could almost be seen dancing among the tines of the pinwheels.

 

* * *

 

**OMAKE**

“Mission accomplished. Threat eliminated.”

“Hound-kun, I surely hope you don't mean that you _killed_ him,” Sandaime commented blandly as he tapped his pipe over a bowl. “I'm certain he wasn't that ill-behaved.”

“I've nullified the threat from broken arrow shafts, paper cuts, and pricked fingertips and recovered the semi-long lost secret recipe to preventing burns from corrosive chakra––hint: it's not soap––of course,” Hound retorted, turning a page in his orange book. “What else could I possibly mean?”

“Of course,” the older man agreed, tamping his pipe. “And the wind?”

“Rising briskly from the raging fire--” Hound shifted, raising his book higher. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Sandaime struck a match. “You may return home and rest. Thank you for your hard work.” Hound didn't so much as nod before he disappeared.

“Cheeky brat,” the Hokage smiled before turning to face the roiling orange mass in the forest that, for the first time in a whole year, seemed to be rising from the floor at night, repelled by some force. The shadowy figure of a lanky teen with unruly pale hair perched on a roof below and watched a boy with a bushy ponytail run through the barren street with an armful of oranges, shiny new hitai-ate glinting in the lamplight. An eclipse of eerie white moths fluttered around them flashing gold in the light. “But then, what else is the Fire for?”

**Author's Note:**

> Origin of the pinwheels – Mt. Osore, Osorezan [Mountain of the Dead], located in Mutsu and two neighboring towns in Aomori Prefecture, is regarded as a sacred mountain. The smell of sulfur hangs in the air, and it is dotted with small cairns of stones erected by pilgrims at places called "Sai no Kawara" -- Buddhist rivers believed to be home to the souls of deceased children. Atop the piles of stones, pinwheels, left by parents praying for the transmigration of their departed children's souls, chatter in the wind. It has long been believed in the Shimokita region of the prefecture, that the souls of the dead congregate on Mt. Osore, or Osorezan. 
> 
> In summation:  
> Pinwheels speak with the voice of the dead and move as the spirits pass between them. They are also used to keep the spirits of children company and help them to pass through Hell. Additionally moths and butterflies are seen as the souls or embodiment of the souls of the departed, dearly or otherwise.


End file.
